The Soul Scarab

by C J Turner

  His admiration of his wife’s bravery and fortitude soared to new heights as he became aware of the clammy, claustrophobic atmosphere of this daunting anti chamber. There was a faint, distasteful tang in the heavy air, familiar yet disturbing. Wrenching his concentration back to the present task, he scanned the area carefully, taking in the wall of polished black granite inscribed with many strange hieroglyphics. They appeared to be strong incantations or spells, magical formulae written in an archaic form unfamiliar to him, which he had never come across before. Blake could not make much sense of them, sparing a fleeting thought for Max who would have loved to get his teeth into the inscriptions which covered the wall. One cartouche he did recognise, displayed over and again, the name and titles of the great High Priest and mighty magician, Menkheperne.

  This is where all roads had led, the tomb that Na’ill had paid with his life to keep secret. What was the link between the powerful and highborn Menkheperne and the lowly artisan Kenna? They would probably never know now and at that moment, Blake did not greatly care. For once ignoring the archaeological possibilities of this ominous place, his whole concentration was fixed on finding his wife’s kidnapper and making him pay in full for his treatment of her, down to the last tiniest scratch.

  Despite Amunet’s conviction that Khalid had found a way in from behind the granite barrier, he was sure that the mechanism for opening the entrance would be on this side. There would have been no point in being able to open it from the inner chamber - this was, after all, a tomb, and the only person meant to be on the other side of the great granite slab would not have been in a position to open anything!

  Also, he had himself investigated this entire area very thoroughly after the avalanche. He was not an archaeologist for nothing and the thought of walking away from the site of an undiscovered tomb without attempting entry was total anathema to one of Blake’s temperament. However, the immediate area had proved so unstable that he had concentrated on the surrounding region, hoping to find another entrance, but with no luck. The soft limestone quickly changed character to a much harder stone and was altogether too rough and tumbled to sink any exploratory shafts without some serious equipment. He knew exactly what he was looking for and when he did not find it, was forced to the conclusion that there was no immediate alternative access to the tomb, especially for one as old and weak as Khalid.

  Blake thought now that Khalid had probably crawled in through the rat hole which Mustaf had so laboriously scratched out, while Mustaf himself was away adding murder and kidnapping to his swelling list of criminal activities. How then, had Khalid got through that formidable barrier of solid granite? Blake pushed, twisted, felt, pressed and stamped everything within reach that could possibly activate the mechanism, paying particular emphasis to the two statues of Anubis that guarded the entrance. Nothing worked, the obdurate stone remaining entirely unmoved.

  After a frustrating while, as the atmosphere built up to suffocating proportions, if anyone other than Amunet had told him that the wall had ever stirred a millimeter since it was first placed there over three thousand years ago, he would simply not have believed them.

  Blake had already considered the possibility that he might not be able to discover the way in and had come prepared for that eventuality. Kneeling down on the sandy floor of the chamber, he carefully took out the contents of his pockets and started to make his arrangements.

  It was as well for him that he had done so and was ready, for when the great slab suddenly started to slide silently back into the rock, the fuse on his little bundle of white sticks was already burning steadily.

  Blake had been forewarned as soon as he became aware of the musty stench creeping insidiously back into the chamber. A smell he had recognised once before, when it had filled Amunet’s bedroom from the open window as he struggled to wrest the dagger from her. The same terrible stench he had first smelt emanating from Khalid’s filthy robes as he knelt in the dust before the old man, listening to Ahmed giving the orders for his death.

  It took no time at all for Blake to carefully lob the dynamite gently through the widening gap and race back down the passage. But not, unfortunately, before he had glimpsed what lay beyond the wall. Stumbling back, he ran for his life.

  Blake had cleared the passage and was out in the open, leaping, falling, picking himself up and sprinting on down the gorge with all the speed at his command, when there was a rising rumble of distant thunder. The land trembled beneath his feet, and the whole of the area he had just left behind, suddenly disintegrated. Great boulders and jagged splinters of rock shot into the air in a huge dun coloured spray before falling massively back and disappearing into a wide depression, hidden by a dense cloud of dust. Seconds later he felt a hard thump in the back that sent him reeling to the ground as the aftershock hit him. Scrambling over the quaking ground, he pulled himself into the waiting jeep. It took three attempts to gun the engine into life, seconds, which felt like several lifetimes to a sweating and swearing Blake, and then at last with a splutter and a roar, the engine fired and the jeep launched rapidly towards the entrance of the canyon. He was only just in time.

  An impenetrable gust of sand thickened air blew like a whirling dervish down the gorge with a strange eerie noise like a thin, high-pitched scream and blasted out of the far end, with Blake only just managing to keep ahead by driving all out. For a moment it looked as if the sandstorm had caught him up; he was blind and deaf, his foot stamped hard on the accelerator and he shot out of the lethal cloud of choking dust and razor sharp grit and hurtled away into the clear.

  Max had not been driving long before Amunet did indeed wake up to the fact that Blake was not with them. The next few minutes were loud and painful before Max gave in, swung the jeep round and headed back towards the gorge. The two vehicles saw each other coming and braked to a stop, Amunet already tumbling out while they were still moving to fly across the road into Blake’s arms, alternately trying to pummel and kiss him in more or less equal measure.

  ‘How could you, how could you send us away and go back alone to that horrible place!’ Amunet sobbed. ‘Anything might have happened, you might have been hurt, you might have been kil …’

  Her throat constricted and she dashed a hand angrily across her eyes. Blake smiled down at her dirty, tear-streaked face and held her close. She had not cried, either during her own ordeal, or afterwards, until now.

  ‘Hush, I am o.k. – look, I’m here with you and intend to stay that way for a very long time!’ he murmured quietly into her dusty hair.

  Still holding her to him, he turned to Max, who not trusting himself to speak, ludicrously grabbed Blake’s spare hand and shook it vigorously.

  Blake laughed and rather unsteadily, first Max and then Amunet joined in; they did not need to ask him if he had accomplished what he had set out to do, his steady eyes were calm and his teeth startling white as he grinned at them through a grimy mask of caked dust and sand.

  The very fact that he was safely back with them proved that it was over at last.

  Blake suddenly took in the contrast between himself, his equally disreputable looking wife, and the immaculate Max.

  ‘How come I always get to look like this and you, you never get a hair out of place?’ he demanded.

  ‘Just a knack dear boy – sheer natural talent!’ Max responded shakily. He threw an arm round each of them and led them gently back to the waiting jeeps.

  Time to go home.

  Chapter 26

  It was late in the afternoon a few days later and as Max climbed up the steep steps to join the others on the roof terrace, he could hear the soft voices of the two women quietly chatting and laughing together. He smiled contentedly. Apart from the broken rib, Amunet had recovered very quickly from her ordeal, but Max had heroically refrained from asking any of the many questions which buzzed incessantly around in his head like so many bewildered bees.

  Exclaiming in warm greeting when she saw his head appearing from the stairwell, Ham
eeda bustled about producing a glass of wine for him and a dish of succulent fresh dates. She was anxious to return to the kitchen where she was preparing a special celebratory meal and now that Max had arrived to keep her niece company, she soon disappeared back to her cooking.

  As Amunet looked up with a welcoming smile, he studied the little face lifted to his keenly, noting with satisfaction that her eye were clear and unshadowed. Despite the odd bruise here and cut there, she glowed with vitality and happiness, and something more. For the first time since Max had known her, Amunet was at peace. Perhaps now, he anticipated hopefully, was the time for some overdue explanations.

  Blake had said very little since they had arrived back at Hameeda’s house and Max suspected that the full impact of what he might so easily have lost was only just hitting home. This was a new Blake and one whom Max had never seen before, a more thoughtful Blake who radiated a calm fulfillment which Max found reassuring - if a tad trying! He seemed to want nothing more than to put the whole affair behind them, and had stated firmly that Amunet needed time to recover before everything was raked over again. Whilst appreciating his concern, Max was still agog to know more! Also, it appeared to him, that it was Blake, not Amunet, who was unwilling to speak about what had happened in the tomb.

  Max savoured his wine and reflected how relieved he had been to discover that it was not against Hameeda’s religious principles to offer alcohol to her guests. He was slightly hazy as to which religion, in fact, Hameeda favoured, she seemed to believe in a lot of things!

  Helping Amunet to a drink, he solicitously asked her how she was feeling.

  She took the glass from him with a mischievous grin. ‘Poor Max, you have been so patient, but I think that when Blake gets back from Luxor…’

  Max looked round in surprise, registering for the first time that Blake was not with them. ‘Oh? Why has he gone there – he said nothing to me earlier!’ Max protested mildly in suprise.

  ‘He said he had to go and pick something up, don’t be cross Max, come and sit with me and relax, look it is a beautiful evening!’ Amunet patted the cushions of the comfortable, battered old basket chair next to hers invitingly and, his momentary pique at Blake’s defection instantly forgotten, Max sat down with pleasure at her side.

  It was, as she said, a very beautiful evening. They both fell silent as they contemplated the awesome vista spread before them. Hameeda’s house was the last one in the village, set well back from its nearest neighbour and approached via quite a stiff climb. From the roof terrace it commanded the most wonderful panoramic views across the western valley. The evening was beginning to close in, the shadows lengthening across the tawny landscape and the lingering rays of the setting sun highlighting the peaks and sheer cliff faces with an umber sheen, in stark contract with the tumble of striated black folds lower down. From high above them, distance reducing its powerful three metre wingspan to an eyelash, a buzzard wheeled overhead, its fierce shrieking cry echoing across the pale, limitless sky. In the far distance to the north, a glimpse of green and a flash of silver light which was the Nile.

  Amunet shivered suddenly and Max turned to her in surprise. ‘What’s the matter, my dear, are you cold?’ he asked in concern.

  ‘No, I am fine. Max, I was just thinking ... even if the dagger did not killed Khalid, he and Mustaf must have died in the explosion, mustn’t they? I mean they couldn’t possibly…’

  ‘Now, you must try not to dwell on those miserable creatures. You and Blake dealt with them both as they deserved and no one could survive half a mountain falling on top of them!’

  ‘Yes, I know, but I cannot help wondering …’ Amunet said quietly, ‘I wish Alice was here’.

  ‘Alice? Why? What has she to do with this?’ he asked, puzzled.

  ‘You would be suprised!’ came a deep voice from the stairwell and Blake bounded up the steep steps, turning to lend a helping hand to the person behind him.

  ‘Alice!’ Amunet flew out of the chair and flung her arms around the delighted woman. ‘Blake, you brought her to me! How did you know I wanted her here, oh so much?’ She demanded of Blake, excitedly turning from her dear friend to be enfolded in Blake’s close embrace.

  ‘Oh, my dear girl, I had already spoken to Blake on the telephone and I am sorry that I could not get here in time for the wedding, I was so happy to hear your news!’ Then turning to the other woman, ‘Hameeda! How wonderful to see you again after all these years!’

  Hameeda had come up to greet her new guest and the two women embraced, clearly deeply pleased with their re-union and no one noticed the conspiratorial look that passed between them.

  ‘Marhaba, Sitt, you are welcome. It is good to see you in my house again. My heart was sad to hear of the loss of Effendi Brendan.’

  ‘A long time ago now, Hameeda, and you too have lost dear ones since we last met.’ Alice smiled gently at Hameeda, who nodded robustly.

  ‘We will not dwell on that now. We have a wedding to celebrate and much else to be thankful for, I think!’

  ‘That’s right!’ interjected Blake firmly. ‘I called into Armand’s while I was in Luxor and brought back the wherewithal for a celebration, which you can come and help me open, Max, if you would be so kind.’

  Max looked a little bemused but he allowed himself to be guided downstairs to the kitchen where a bottle of champagne nestled invitingly in a bucket of ice.

  ‘There’s a case in the cellar, but let’s get started on this first,’ Blake said with satisfaction as he passed the ice bucket to Max, who automatically took it and then stood looking at it vacantly as if he could not imagine where it had come from.

  ‘I don’t think Hameeda will run to champagne glasses but these will do just as well,’ Blake continued, happily ignoring his friend’s perplexity as he placed some thick, pale green glass tumblers on a wooden tray.

  Max shook his head and tried to get a grip on the situation.

  ‘Now hold on just a moment! What is going on? Why was Amunet so anxious to see Alice?’

  ‘Alice will tell you herself, Max. Come back upstairs and she will explain all!’ Blake retorted over his shoulder as he carried the tray upstairs, and a fulminating Max had little choice but to follow him.

  The champagne was duly opened, glasses were filled, Blake proposed a toast to his bride, which everyone heartily endorsed, and only then was Amunet invited to begin the proceedings.

  Revellations

  The following story was as strange as anything Max had ever heard, especially as he knew all the people involved and could not lightly dismiss it - as he might well have done if he had heard it from any other source. As he listened, he felt the short hairs rise on the back of his neck.

  The terrace was hung with pierced brass lanterns, which cast shifting star patterns of flickering candlelight over the assembled company. As yet it was too early for the stars to be out and beyond the low adobe walls, a chiaroscuro moonscape of burnt umber and silver sand was spread before them under a darkly luminous sky. The setting was perfect for the drama about to unfold.

  Amunet began by taking them back to that fateful evening when Alice had remembered the parcel and the subsequent revelations regarding the dagger.

  The bond that both women had felt from the first had strengthened after that and Alice had decided to take Amunet into her confidence.

  She made a graceful gesture towards her friend. ‘Alice, would you like to continue?’

  Alice took a sip of her champagne and seated on the low wall facing her audience, she started to speak in a matter-of-fact voice, which never the less held the others enthralled.

  After her husband’s death, Alice had moved back to London. On one particular evening shortly afterwards, she had been packing away some of his things, when the realization that Brendan was gone for good had hit her for the first time with all the devastation of a knockout blow. Lonely and bereft, her empty life stretched before her hopelessly; she had no idea what she was going to do or how she was goin
g to fill her days. She had broken down and in the fragile calm after that first shattering paroxysm of grief, had experienced her first strange encounter with a tragedy that had taken place over three thousand years ago.

  She had sat by the sitting room fire until very late that particular evening, drowsily contemplating the leaping flames, but reluctant to exchange the warmth of the room for the cold sheets of her lonely bed. Exhausted by grief, she had fallen into a half-sleep and in her semi-conscious state, had appeared to slip into a dream wherein she had been transported back to the time of the Pharaohs in ancient Egypt.

  The dream portrayed the tragic unfolding of a young Egyptian girl’s cruelly short life.

  Amunet saw Blake’s face flinch and laid a hand warningly on his arm but Alice had turned away slightly to stare into the night and did not appear to notice, nor that Hameeda was surreptitiously making the sign against evil from under a fold of her robe. With a sigh, Alice returned to the present and took up her story.

  She had woken from the dream with a start, confused and aware that her heart was thudding painfully – it had been so real - the colours, scents, sounds and emotions so vivid. That first experience had been a happy one and she had basked for a while in the warmth of the love she had felt so strongly surrounding the girl and her lover in the dream. It had taken her a while to adjust and it was with a curious sense of disappointment and loss that she had reluctantly laid the episode aside, but she could not forget it.

  A week or so later it had happened again, but the odd and really disturbing factor this time was that this dream continued at exactly the same point from where the first experience had abruptly stopped. This was inexplicable, and intrigued, she wondered whether she was somehow willing herself to imagine this story as a diversion against her great unhappiness, but she did not really believe this to be true. She had picked up a lot of archaeology from her time with Brendan and had recognised a cartouche on the wall of the tomb in her dream which enabled her to set the story in the reign of Pharaoh Horemheb. Once identified, she made meticulous researches into that period and came up with some intriguing coincidences. She became utterly convinced that she was witnessing events that had really happened long ago. For a time she tried desperately hard to conjure the dream sequences at will but this did not work. The visions came when they willed and always started directly from the moment the last one had ended.